Albus Potter and the Palace of Memories
by fluv
Summary: Albus Potter at Hogwarts. Wizarding parents tend not to share their histories with each new generation, perhaps in an attempt to hold their fragile community together. But how does this forgive-and-forget, all-is-well policy affect their children?


As the train lurched into motion and set off from the station, the tension that Albus had felt on the platform began to dissipate as he considered the year ahead. No matter what, his life was going to be different now—definitely busier, and perhaps more exciting. There was no really going back home now, for better or worse. He settled in across from Rose, who was in the middle of working imaginary creases out of her new robes by running her plump fingers over her lap.

"Happy to have something _not_ made by Grandma?" Albus asked softly, with a grin.

Rose blushed. "I just want to make a good impression. Mum told me it's best to get off on the right foot if you want to do well."

"Don't worry, I'm sure you will—what's that?" he frowned.

There was a scuffling and banging from outside their compartment. All went ominously still and then there was James, pulling the door open and doing his best to saunter on the moving train. He plopped down next to Rose, followed by two other boys who sat down next to Albus, leaving the latter decidedly squashed. "There you guys are!" James said (with over-the-top enthusiasm, in Albus' opinion). "What are you doing all the way in the last carriage? I've been looking for you everywhere. These are my mates, Gordon Wood and Anthony Pollux." He gestured at them in turn. James had rattled on about them all summer, but neither had been by to visit. Gordon Wood was fair and skinny with a pinched face, a bit like a tree Albus thought, and Anthony Pollux tall and dark. Wood barely looked at his surroundings, apparently bored already, but Pollux narrowed his eyes and turned to look at Albus with a thoughtful expression.

"I saw a picture of your dad in _A New History of Magic_. You look like him."

Before Albus could ask why his dad's picture was in a history book (he wasn't _that_ old), James butted in, laughing. "Nah. No glasses. I'm the one stuck with that particular curse." He paused, pushing his glasses up his freckled nose with his wand. "Anyway, Pol, you'd better get a good look, because you won't be seeing much of him once we're at school."

"Why not?" Wood asked. He sounded indifferent. He was probably used to James' theatrics.

"Isn't it obvious? Little Albie is going to be sorted into Slytherin." He reached over and gave Albus a hard pinch on the cheek. "Isn't that right, Al old boy?" He started to stroke an imaginary beard, twisting his neck as if to study Albus from every angle. He tapped his foot, his heavy leather shoe thumping dully on the wooden floor of the train. He'd grown a few centimetres taller over the summer and demonstrated the benefits of his new height whenever he could. "Yes, yes... Has it written all over him. Just look at those piercing green eyes."

Rose's own eyes grew wide, and her skin looked especially pale against her red, curly hair. "You can tell?"

For a second, James dropped his mocking tone. "Oh, no Rosie... I'm only joking, honest." He gave her a wink, his brown eyes ever laughing as if at his own private joke, even as he wrestled his mouth into sombre submission. "Anyway, you have nothing to worry about. You're a Gryffindor through and through. Honest to goodness. From what Uncle George says, '_all_ Weasleys are Gryffindors.'" To give James credit, he'd done a fair impression of their uncle, leaning back with his arms crossed in front of him. Even Albus had to grin, despite having just been the object of James' teasing.

"Well, _I_ don't mind whatever happens, James," she said quickly, looking from Wood to Pollux. "I just don't think dad would like it, that's all..."

James let out another sharp laugh—it was all he ever seemed to do anymore, laugh and make what he thought were witty observations—and pulled his wand back and forth through the air, as if it were the bow of an invisible violin. A few sparks trailed off, leaving the illusion of light reflected on strings. "Oh, the dilemmas in being a first-year..."

Albus tried, surreptitiously, to read his cousin's reaction. Rosie was the cleverest witch he knew, apart from his aunt, but she could be quite sensitive as well—quite a bit like Uncle Ron, as his mum loved to point out. Albus knew for a fact that James was terrified of Aunt Hermione. Rose wasn't used to seeing this side of him, Albus was pretty sure, at least not directed toward her. If anything, those two tended to be partners-in-crime. Unfortunately, his older brother seemed to have forgotten that bit of their usual dynamic while his friends were around. Friends and housemates. It was time _someone_ said _something_ to James, only Albus couldn't think of anything sufficiently witty or embarrassing. To his surprise, it was Rose who snapped back, "Don't make fun, James. We all remember how you were pestering Fred and Teddy last year. Anyway, Fred said we Weasleys and Potters ought to stick together, and he's a sixth year." She looked over at Albus with what looked like pity and crossed her arms stiffly. She turned back to James, forced to look up at him but still managing to convey an air of condescension. "And you can just stop right now with all that ickle firstie business. You're only six months older than me and you know it. I just happen to realise how important the sorting is. You're cruel to take advantage."

"Fred isn't really a sixth year," James muttered. "He isn't coming back. Anyway, I was only trying to get at Al." He scratched the back of his head, sheepish for once. "You'll see how it is when Hugo gets his letter. Al nearly wet himself. You can't ask me to pass that up."

Albus would have voiced his protests at that last dig from James, but he never got the chance. The sound of footsteps pounding down the corridor turned everyone's attention to the door. The three older boys raised their wands in expectation.

"Hey Potter! Pollux!" a girl yelled from outside the compartment. She came speeding up to them and yanked the door open, out of breath, black hair bouncing in ringlets. With her came the faintest scent of burnt cinnamon and extinguished candles. "Kelly Zerin just put a hex on Aster Whitelock! We need your help! Come ON!"

"For the love of—not already! Why does everything happen without me?" James whined. Without another word, he jumped up and was soon out of sight, closely followed by Pollux and Wood, neither of whom bothered saying goodbye. Rose muttered something about going to find out what was going on before slipping out quickly and quietly. Albus could hear more shouting in the distance. He was a little tempted to follow Rose and see what all the fuss was about, but figured that if James was getting involved it was probably best to stay out of the way. Instead, he fished out a small green book from his robes and began to read. It had been a gift from Aunt Hermione—_The Nine Wishes of Willow Weedgrub. _Not having had nearly enough sleep the previous night, it wasn't long before the words started swimming on the page and the steady rocking of the train gently carried Albus off into a fitful sleep.

* * *

><p>On a simple four-legged wooden stool sat an old, wrinkled leather hat. It looked as if it had once been badly burned, eaten up by ugly black scorch-marks. This, then, was the Sorting Hat: with it, the moment that would determine Albus' next seven years—perhaps the rest of his life. After all, Albus was hard-pressed to think of anyone, really, whom his parents spent time with who had not at one time been a Gryffindor like them. Maybe Mrs Scamander, when she wasn't off on long her expeditions, but there was really no one else. Despite his father's reassurances on the platform, he, like Rose, knew that Slytherin would just not be acceptable to most of his relatives, and that even Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff would likely be met with incomprehension and disappointment.<p>

Professor Longbottom, recently appointed interim Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts, a last-minute replacement for one Professor Slughorn, gazed at the crowd of first-years assembled before him, nodding to himself with satisfaction. His eyes alit briefly on the small blond boy standing next to Albus, the same one that Albus' parents had been staring at on the platform back in London. His look of satisfaction wavered, and hard lines appeared around his mouth. Tapping his forehead softly, as if he had something important that he'd lost on the tip of his tongue, Professor Longbottom then forced his troubled gaze away from Scorpius Malfoy. His pursed lips softened and his eyes went out of focus. He cleared his throat. "Well! Time for the moment of truth, then, is it?" He turned to look over the Great Hall. Shining with the flickering golden light of a thousand candles, it held Hogwarts' restless population, everyone eager for their new housemates (and more importantly, for food). "In my student days," he announced in a clear, sure voice, "our hat would sing. I'm afraid it's been mostly silent for the last twenty-odd years, but I hate to be one to break tradition—No, I'm not going to sing." A few of the older students chuckled. "But I do have a few words I'd like to say before we get started." A hard edge had into his voice that Albus had never heard before, sternness and authority he hoped he wouldn't have to cross. Professor Longbottom, Deputy Headmaster, was very different from Neville Longbottom, long-time family friend. He had already explained the basics of the House system to the group of incoming students in a little room just off the Great Hall, but evidently, he had not said all that was on his mind before leading the huddle of nervous students out in front of the rest of the school.

"As this year's incoming students may or may not know, my years as a student at Hogwarts came at a very dangerous time in Wizarding history—I'm sure it's the case with many of your parents as well." He looked down at them, and Albus could have sworn he'd made eye-contact. "There were certain—pressures—and expectations that came with House assignments. It was a rare thing to see inter-House friendships." Professor Longbottom aimed the briefest sad grin at one of the younger-looking of his fellow teachers sitting over at the high table. "Not only that, there were pressures from within each house that encouraged all sorts of behaviours and political stances, some honourable, others not. I'm not afraid to admit to being a proud Gryffindor"—cheers from the Gryffindor table—"All right, all right, thank you"—he gestured for them to settle down—"but I urge you to remember that back in my day, if we had tried to—"

"Good evening boys and girls!" peeled out a merry, leathery voice, interrupting Professor Longbottom's appeal. Albus looked around, trying to see where it had come from.

It was the hat.

It looked like it was _breathing_.

The entire room erupted in frantic whispers and creaking benches as students leaned forward to express their astonishment and get a better look. Professor Longbottom did not look particularly pleased, but like the students, turned to give the hat his full attention. Through his nerves, Albus wondered at them all, himself included, and how they jumped at the hat's beck and call. He also wondered if it would have dared interrupt the headmistress, or if it even knew that Neville—Professor Longbottom—had any authority at all. Maybe that was part of the problem. But he soon didn't have time for any coherent thoughts, as the hat appeared to shake itself off (Albus was close enough to see a fine sprinkling of dust settle in the air around it, like a dirty halo) and stand tall. It puffed itself up through its largest crease and let out a belting laugh.

"_Now's the time to sing and sort  
>To hum and haw and give report<br>On the state of things that are to come  
>And you shall know when I am done<br>Just how I've sealed your fate._

_First, Ravenclaw is just the thing  
>To dig for wisdom's hidden spring.<br>Pushing through to find new theory,  
>You will work and not grow weary:<br>Yes, this will be your fate._

_If you are ready to be first  
>And power always is your thirst<br>In Slytherin your sun will rise  
>And never set, though time flies:<br>And all will know your fate.  
><em>

_In Gryffindor they have the knack  
>For always picking white from black:<br>And where their hearts go  
>All minds soon follow,<br>For they wrestle against their fate.  
><em>

_But the Hufflepuff will build in hope,  
>And toil, and toil against all that's broken—<br>And soothe, and sing, and stand as one  
>With and to each to whom harm's been done,<br>For they don't believe in Fate.  
><em>

_I've lived through countless cycling ages:  
>The first is that of sages; the second, cunning mages;<br>A third reaps bravery's wages-  
>A fourth may yet begin."<em>

Everyone waited in curious expectation, but there didn't seem to be anything more. Albus didn't know what it was all supposed to mean, but his longing for Gryffindor was building up within his heart and mind like the painful whine of a wheel spinning out of control. He tried to control his breathing, but that just made him conscious of his thudding heart. What was it the hat had said? Why didn't any of the houses sound like him? Perhaps there'd been some mistake. _No one would ever follow where I led_ was his only certainty.

"Well, er, yes," said a confused Longbottom. "Thank you for that. But as I was going to say—"

"I will always remember you with fondness, Longbottom, but as time is precious and life is short, LET THE SORTING BEGIN!"

"Oh, all right then. This clearly isn't going to work," Longbottom huffed irritably. "Line up, everyone, and be ready when I call your name." Albus sympathized; it must feel undignified to be interrupted, twice no less, by a hat that hadn't been so... whimsical... in decades. What did the leathery old thing even mean, anyway? Fate—Albus didn't like the sound of that. He swallowed hard and turned his attention back to Professor Longbottom. Best not look at the object of his fear, and if he were to be perfectly honest with himself, his loathing as well. Professor Longbottom at least seemed to be an ally.

The line of first years dwindled far too quickly, and with each passing student, Albus felt the knot in his stomach grow tighter. He barely registered Professor Longbottom's concerned frown as "Malfoy, Scorpius" was promptly directed to Slytherin. The vaguely curious part of him wondered why all the adults seemed to be making such a big fuss over the other boy. The majority of him was busy with his own worries. He dared not look over at James. Remember what dad said, he told himself. Squinching his eyes, he concentrated on the name _Gryffindor_ and tried to think brave thoughts. He attempted to calm himself especially as "Paden, Marie" stepped forward—"Potter" couldn't be long in following. Unlike the others, her sorting seemed interminable. This far into the game, it would be a relief just to get it over with.

Finally, with a chuckle, the hat announced, "by a hair, GRYFFINDOR!" Albus couldn't be sure, but it sounded like it mumbled a few more words that only the wanly smiling Marie could hear. The little blonde girl glanced wistfully over at the Hufflepuff table where a tall, fair boy and a freckly strawberry-blonde girl with plaited hair were sitting. They smiled encouragingly at her even as she shuffled off to the cheering Gryffindor table. The knot in Albus' stomach was beyond painful now, and he wondered if he would be sick. _That_ certainly hadn't looked like the hat had listened to Marie Paden's wishes. _What if dad was lying to make me feel better?_

"Potter, Albus!"

His heart jumped in his chest. This was it, then. With each shaky step toward the innocuous looking stool, Albus' four possible futures flashed before his eyes: his mum's excited hug and his Uncle Ron's proud grin on finding out he was a Gryffindor; his Aunt Hermione's that-was-my-other-choice-I'm-so-proud-of-you reaction to Ravenclaw, paired with his dad's you-must-have-got-it-from-your-mother confusion; the "at least it's not Slytherin" reaction from, well, everyone (along with commiserating glances, of course) at a Hufflepuff announcement; and—the one he dreaded most—his dad's overly optimistic encouragement at the mention of Slytherin, the inevitable "don't worry, we still love you," and the horrid, horrid mocking from James. He wasn't sure which of those he would hate more. At least his brother's reaction would be honest. He climbed onto the stool. It was surprisingly slippery under his new robes. And on came the hat. It was dark and musty and eerily warm. "Another Potter!" he heard it muse. "I've had a James, a Harry, and another James. I half expected another Harry."

_I'm Albus_.

_Indeed you are. Albus Severus Potter. Now isn't that a happy trio? Yes, yes, not exactly what one would expect. I remember them all. A certain congruity, if I recall correctly._

_Congruity?_

The hat ignored his question. _But they're just names. What's in a name? _It went silent. Albus had the peculiar feeling of being rummaged through. _What's this? Ginny Weasley too... and..._

_And what?_

_How funny these things work out. With all your names stirred together, my boy, I should think you'd make a fine Slytherin._

_I DON'T WANT TO BE A SLYTHERIN! _Albus thought desperately, trying to recall any hints his dad may have dropped during their last conversation.

_No one has in a great while, have they? Figure there are better ways of getting ahead! I see through it all, though. Ambition is ambition. Well, Albus Severus Potter, _the hat drawled, _are you aware that Albus and Severus and Potter each fought for their Sorting of choice? I went a bit soft for a century or two._

Albus was growing increasingly aware of the time his Sorting was taking. The longer this went on, the less chance there was that he could persuade the hat. _My dad said that you listened to him._

_Listened indeed! _the hat chuckled gently. _I'm only a hat! Let me ask you this, then: are you afraid to be sorted into Slytherin? Be honest now. I'll know._

Albus recalled his imaginary conversations. _Well—a little. My whole family has been in Gryffindor. But my dad said that Slytherin is okay, so... I guess it wouldn't be the end of the world. _He hesitated. _I just really would prefer not._

_Did he now? Harry Potter... _ The hat mused. It seemed to find something very funny. _Well, since I must agree that bravery without a little fear is mere foolhardiness, let it be— _

"—GRYFFINDOR!"

Albus ripped the hat off and slid down from the stool before the Sorting Hat could have the chance to change its mind. Amid loud cheers he stumbled over to the Gryffindor table—his table. The knot in his stomach dissipated, and with a shock Albus realised that he was starving. He'd slept through the snack cart's rounds on the train and hadn't had anything since breakfast. The sight of the empty, gleaming dishes on the table made his stomach rumble audibly.

James, as always, was laughing. He pulled his younger brother down beside him on the wooden bench, gave him a punch on the arm and asked, "How'd you fool it?" Albus didn't dare answer, not trusting himself to hide just how close he thought he'd come to fulfilling James' prophecy. Pollux gave him a firm handshake and Marie Paden smiled briefly before everyone settled down to watch the rest of the Sorting. Thomas, Billy went straight to Ravenclaw, and Underwood, Jennifer followed after about a minute's deliberation. Albus was so relieved at his own outcome that he'd completely forgotten about his cousin's Sorting. She was the last one standing, and was starting to look a little green in the face.

"Weasley, Rose!"

By this point, Rose was shaking so much that it looked like Professor Longbottom might have to help her onto the stool. In the end, she scrabbled onto it on her own and took the hat into her trembling hands. She'd barely put it on when she let out an audible squeak. A second later, the hat pronounced:

"SLYTHERIN!"

Rose removed the hat and climbed off the stool, but unlike the rest of the first-years, she didn't immediately head off to her table. There had been some cheering from the Slytherins at first, but as Rose continued to stand awkwardly at the front of the room, it melted away. For a moment, Albus thought with alarm that Rose might try to head over to the Gryffindor table, hat or no hat. Another agonizing three seconds passed before she made any move at all. Professor Longbottom, looking almost as shocked as Rose, had stepped forward. Not meeting his eye, Rose's plump little body went rigid; she stuck her nose in the air and strutted over to the Slytherin table, where the other students made room for her without a word.

The rest of that evening was a blur—Professor Longbottom never did get the chance to speak again, and whatever concerns he had been trying to articulate remained with him. The hat and stool were speedily removed, Professor McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts, spoke a few words of welcome (the gist of which was "stay out of trouble," "study hard," and "get along"), and then the eating began. Albus forced himself to eat as much as he possibly could—three kinds of potato, roast beef, ginger carrots, buttery peas, and what seemed to be grilled tomatoes. He did this both because he was hungry and because it was a good strategy for avoiding talking to James, who had been staring incredulously at the Slytherins sitting two tables over since the end of the Sorting Ceremony.

"Uncle Ron is going to kill her," James finally announced between bites of pie.

"He'll probably be mad." What else was there to say?

"And Uncle George! He doesn't even have kids at Hogwarts and he hates Slytherin more than anyone!" His voice dropped to a rough, irritating whisper: "I once heard him say..."

"James! Not _now._ Not _here_."

"What?" His eyes took on a vicious gleam. "Maybe the hat got you and Rose mixed up."

"Knock it off," Albus muttered half-heartedly.

James finished off his pie. "Maybe we should find Rose later and ask her what happened."

What had happened seemed pretty straightforward to Albus, but he nodded anyway.

* * *

><p>"Am-am-am-bi-bi-bitious!" Rose managed to get out between sobs. Albus and James had only managed to track her down in a seemingly abandoned hallway late into the next day—a Saturday, as luck would have it. James had wanted to bring Gord and Pol along on their search, and they had seemed keen to join in, but Albus had insisted that it was a family matter. James, giving a surprising amount of weight to his brother's input, had agreed.<p>

"I p-put it on and it laughed at me! Laughed!" Rose looked mortified by the memory.

"Please James, please Al... you can't tell my parents, or your parents, or _anybody_."

Both boys looked at each other and frowned, and just as James said "of course!" Albus asked "but won't they know?"

"They won't know if no one tells them," she snapped back with surprising ferocity.

"Well, I certainly won't. You have my word," promised James, hand on his heart.

"But what about Professor Longbottom?" Albus still wasn't convinced.

"I-I'll just have t-to talk to him. Or maybe he'll just be really busy this year and won't have a chance to say anything to anyone." She looked hopeful for a moment, but then something else occurred to her, and she deflated suddenly. "Oh, but of course mum and dad are going to pester him about everything. You know how they are. I just can't stand d-d-d-disappointing th-them!" It was too much for her, and she'd broken out in to wailing again. She had been standing in a corner for support, and now slid down the wall to the floor and hugged her knees tight against her chest.

James got down on the tile and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. "Don't cry, Rosie. It'll be okay—we'll use you as a spy! You'll always be a Gryffindor to me."

This only made Rose cry louder. Her wails had aroused the attention of the near-by portraits, and low whisperings and muttering were starting to flit about from wall to wall. "I say," announced a rotund witch in cerulean dress robes and a broad feathered hat, "what is the matter with that girl? Shall I alert the headmistress?"

"No!" Rose said, nearly shouting. "I'm fine. I'm just talking with my cousins."

The portrait lost its air of suspicion but none of its snobbishness. "Well, do try to keep it down. There are other inhabitants in the castle, you know. I myself am on my way to a community meeting being held in one of the still-lifes near the astronomy tower." She gave them each a stern look, reserving her most severe for Albus, it seemed. "And if you should happen to see Nigellus Black, _do not_ let him know about it. He can be such a bore at these kinds of functions."

There were low murmurs of agreement from some of the surrounding portraits.

"What, er, are you discussing?" asked Rose, distracted, for the moment, from her own problems.

"Thank you for asking, but I'm afraid that it is not for first-years such as yourselves to be concerned with."

"Hey!" James barked, "I'm no first-year!"

"No? Well, I'm afraid that you all look quite alike to me." She took out a lacy fan and began to wave it melodramatically. "Perhaps if you were a _prefect _I might let you into the secret of our little reconnoitre, but I would get into _such_ trouble for letting the cat out the bag to your type."

"Who are you, anyway?"

The portrait rolled her eyes. "Lady Mathilda Tildeque, of course."

"Well, Lady Mathilda Tildeque," James said, staring down the foresaid Lady with brazen audacity, "No one really asked you to put your rather bulbous nose into our business, either, and anyway—no one cares about your silly still-life club. So you can just... just... tuttle off."

There was a stony silence from the other portraits and a "tut!" from Lady Mathilda, who promptly stalked out of her portrait without a farewell. Most of the more pretentious looking onlookers followed suit, and soon the hallway was lined with empty frames. Albus looked back at Rose, who was still crouched on the floor and starting to look distressed once again. "Do you think she'll tell?" she asked pitifully.

"Of course not," said James dismissively. "She has a secret society meeting to attend, remember? Besides, it's not like we're doing anything wrong."

Rose laughed a little and wiped her tears away with her sleeve. She was still flushed, but Lady Mathilda's harrumphing (and James' mockery thereof) had been distracting enough to calm her down. She wasn't even hiccoughing, as she usually did when upset. "I'm not afraid of any silly old portraits anyway," said Rose.

Albus wasn't so sure he himself wasn't. He stood back from his companions, leaning against the opposite wall, its stones damp and cool to the touch. Glancing from the empty portraits back to James and Rose, he kept his mouth shut lest the portraits _had_ made the headmistress aware of the situation.

"Well!" announced James. "You want to come see our Common Room?"

"Is it allowed?"

"Well... I dunno. No one's ever tried, I guess. At least, I don't think they have. But there's a first time for everything, right?"

"Thanks, James, that's real nice of you, but maybe it's not such a good idea. Not tonight, anyway. It's late and I don't want to get stuck."

"Are they nice to you, Rosie?" Albus asked quietly. He was conscious of a nervous energy building up in his stomach, his fingers, the back of his neck... any moment now the headmistress would come striding purposefully toward them, he just knew it. And then Rose's secret would most certainly be out. But he had to at least know that she was okay before he started dragging James back to the safety of their housemates.

Rose shrugged. "I guess so. No one really talks to me, but no one's pushing me around, if that's what you mean. I think I offended them when, wh-when..." Her chin crinkled and began breathing heavily again. James rubbed her back to calm her down, and after gathering her thoughts, she was able to continue. "I almost wish they'd just be mean to me. I hate being ignored all the time."

"Trust me, Rosie," James grinned. "The last thing anyone could do is ignore you."

"Just don't tell my parents. Please," she begged. "Al, you have to promise. Swear you won't say anything. Don't even mention me."

Albus sighed. "We won't, Rosie, but I just don't see how it's possible. They're going to ask if you don't write them. And you can't outright lie to them, can you?"

"Why not?" James asked. He seemed genuinely confused. "It's not like they ever come here, right?"

"Because... we just... we can't. They'll know. It's stupid. I agree to not say anything, but I'm not going to write home saying Rosie's in Gryffindor."

"Boys, don't worry about it. I'll take care of it. Just don't mention me. If my parents write me, I'll just make some excuse about being too busy to write back properly, or I'll write about my classes. I'll just keep forgetting to answer." Rose looked from one brother to the other. "And you'll do the same. If they ask, fill your letters home with other things and they won't even notice you've not answered."

"Rosie—"

"James, I mean it. This c-could r-ruin me."

"Okay, okay, just don't cry. It's okay, Rosie, honest."

"B-but what about what you were saying on the train? Everyone hates S-s-slytherin, and you know it."

"Yes, James," Albus said quietly. "What about what you said on the train?"

"Shut it, Al," James snapped. "Don't be an idiot. You know I didn't mean anything, but she doesn't live with us. Why do you have to cause trouble all the time? Just don't be a mouse for once, okay? This is serious. Rosie, I promise, we won't say anything, and we're there for you no matter what. But if I were you I'd go find Neville and make him promise."

"B-but he's a grown wizard, he's not going to listen to me. And he's a teacher, and a Gryffindor."

"You have to try, though. You've just got to be brave and tell him like it is."

Rose sighed. "I'm not brave, I'm ambitious, remember?"

James laughed and enveloped her in a hug. "Then aim for bravery."

"Thanks, you two. I'll go tomorrow."

"Go today."

Wiping the tears from her eyes with a determined finality, Rose struggled to get to her feet. She straightened out her clothes and buttoned her robe, flipped her hair over to fluff it out, and tied it back relatively neatly. "All right. Are you coming with me?"

"Oh, er, I'd love to. But I told Gord we'd go practice Quidditch together. For tryouts, you know? Besides, isn't it best if you go on your own?" James climbed up off the floor but didn't make any effort to dust himself off. "I'd really do it any other time, but you shouldn't wait and..."

"It's okay," Albus interrupted. "I'll go with you. I don't mind."

Rose beamed at him. "Thanks Al! We first years ought to stick together." As she led the way in search of Professor Longbottom, she casually looked over her shoulder and called back to James, "Remember, if you say anything to anyone, I'll hex you all the way to next Friday." Not for the first time in his life, Albus wondered if there were two Roses inhabiting the same body.


End file.
